


Summer Lovin' (Had Me A Blast)

by mouseymightymarvellous, VisiblePetrichor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Day At The Beach, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Meet-Cute, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouseymightymarvellous/pseuds/mouseymightymarvellous, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisiblePetrichor/pseuds/VisiblePetrichor
Summary: Darcy has three days left on vacation and big plans to do absolutely nothing important.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 25
Kudos: 57
Collections: Marching Orders





	1. Chapter 1




	2. Chapter 2

Darcy’s feeling particularly hungover and extra thankful for polarizing sunglasses this afternoon.

There’s the actual hangover she’s accessorizing with, alongside her oversized hat and probably too expensive sunglasses, but it’s mostly exhaustion from having survived a weeklong Family Function.

Why Allison thought a destination wedding would somehow pare the guest list down is beyond Darcy. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Aunt Bethany probably isn’t even going to attend, you know she hates going through border security,” Allison had claimed when she had Skyped Darcy specifically to guilt-trip her into coming. “And, look, your parents already RSVP’d for you, so I’m pretty sure they’re paying your way. C’mon, cuz, it’s a vacation! When’s the last time you took a vacation?”

And the answer to that question was the long weekend Darcy took three years ago, wherein her staycation at a local B&B was cut brutally short because some long nosed Dumbledore motherfucker was opening portals in London and Jane’s thingamabob wouldn’t shut up about it and Darcy—instead of making time with herself and her luxurious bed and the delicious scones provided by the proprietress of the aforementioned B&B—spent three days alternately running around like a headless chicken and awkwardly taking up space on the Tube with her giant backpack of equipment and a beeping monitor on a stick.

But Darcy had given up trying to explain her life choices to her family about ten years ago, so instead she had shrugged and mumbled something about sightseeing on the job.

Allison has grown up to be Darcy’s least obnoxious cousin, but has not outgrown her tendency to bully anyone who stands still long enough into doing her bidding, and so Darcy had found herself crammed onto a plane with too many members of her immediate and distant family, ready for a week of wedding festivities.

About thirty minutes into the speeches on the first night, and Darcy had been about ready for aliens to start dropping out of the sky to put her out of her misery. Luckily, part of the reason Allison is now Darcy’s least obnoxious cousin, is her fiancé-cum-husband, Zachary.

Zachary is tolerable. _Zachary’s_ cousins are now Darcy’s favourite cousins.

Allison even did her the solid and seated all the black sheep at the same table so that they could get drunk together and make tasteless comments about the values espoused in some of the speeches under their breaths to one another in peace.

Darcy’s looking forward to meeting them again in another five years when they’re all suckered into another family function.

For now, though, Darcy is going to lie on her beach towel and attempt to burn off the remainder of the alcohol swimming through her veins. She has three entire days in Cabo on her own, and she plans to waste them completely by sleeping in, lounging around, eating her weight in mangoes, and definitely not running around like a headless chicken trying to assist in saving the world or in collecting revolutionary data.

Safely surrounded by her fortifications (bottle of sunscreen, two water bottles, beach book, extra towel, snacks, bag filled with essential miscellany) and shaded by her umbrella overhead, Darcy closes her eyes behind her sunglasses and dozes off to the roar of waves and rumbling chatter.

“Hey, babe,” says a nearby voice, “I’ve been looking all over for you. Sorry it took me so long, I wanted to grab a couple extra waters.”

Darcy cracks a reluctant lid open, feeling warm and sleep stupid.

Apparently at some point in her nap, she gained neighbours.

A brightly coloured sun towel arcs through the air to settle neatly next to Darcy’s own, followed by an overflowing bag, and then an oversized brim after Darcy’s own heart.

Darcy is obviously still mostly asleep, because next she knows, the neighbour in question drops down on her towel to lean over Darcy, like she’s going to kiss her.

“So this is awkward,” murmurs the most beautiful woman Darcy has ever seen, the words a soft rasp against Darcy’s cheek, “but I’m gonna have to ask for your help in selling this.”

Darcy has survived coming up eight years as Jane’s research assistant and more alien invasions than she particularly cares to count. She is, if not calm, than competent under pressure and willing to act in high stakes situations.

“Ungh?” Darcy grunts out gracefully.

The Most Beautiful Woman Darcy Has Ever Seen blinks.

Darcy has never been more thankful to be wearing sunglasses.

(And, really, she has had significantly too much alcohol over the course of the last week to be asked to be at her best. If she’d known that beautiful women asking for her help were in her future, Darcy probably would have resisted the urge to drown so much of the festivities out.

Probably.)

“If this is too much to ask, I really need you to say so right now,” the Most Beautiful Woman says matter of factly.

Darcy pushes herself up onto her elbows and presses a kiss to the Most Beautiful Woman’s cheek, but doesn’t quite manage to get herself as far off the ground as she had intended to with her panicked lurch, and so catches her a little too low for strangers, just at the corner of her mouth.

The Most Beautiful Woman’s mouth kicks up a little bit in a smile as Darcy pulls back, and she raises a delicate eyebrow in question.

“Did you find any fruit?” Darcy asks, and then clears her throat at how raw her voice comes out.

Sleep-worn.

Yeah, just the aftereffects of her nap. Sure, Darcy.

“It’s what took me so long, yeah.” The Most Beautiful Woman roots through her bag and, miracles upon miracles, comes up with a tub of strawberries and mango. “Here. For you. Your favourite.”

Darcy sits up and takes the proffered fruit and, in the absence of any other idea what to do, opens up the tub and starts picking out pieces of mango. She watches the Most Beautiful Woman out of the corner of her eyes, face forward like she’s admiring the ocean.

“So,” she finally says, when she can’t stand the quiet any longer.

The Most Beautiful Woman smiles.

Her hair is long and blonde and pulled back out of her face into a sleek ponytail, all the better to show off her bright lipstick and frankly breathtaking eyes, shaded under her sunhat.

She also, Darcy realizes with a record scratch, was a redhead the last time they met: a quiet but intense presence on the Stark Industries team that came to London to wine and dine Jane four years ago.

(They weren’t very successful. The visit ended with Jane yelling at Tony Stark’s holographic head about the democracy of academia and taxation brackets. (Darcy was very proud.))

“You’re in Cabo for three more days,” the Most Beautiful Woman says, “and you have an acceptable security clearance, given the situation. I’m hoping you don’t mind being my cover.”

Like a hammer falling out of the sky, Darcy realizes quite suddenly that there are two very famous redheads known for existing in the same orbit as Tony Stark.

“I have my taser in my bag,” Darcy blurts out.

The Black Widow smiles wider. “I’d like to tell you that you probably won’t need it at all, but that’s probably going to turn out to be a lie.”

And, really, Darcy has spent an entire 18 hours on vacation by herself, and she’s only one nap and part of beach read in and she’s completely bored.

“Well,” Darcy says, “you did bring me mangoes.”

“I know,” the Black Widow says, “they’re your favourite.”

That should not be hot.

It is scorchingly hot.

“And my book is really, actually insultingly boring. I cannot believe that Melody promised me that the sex made up for the plot. It does not.”

“Babe,” says the Black Widow, “Darcy, really. You need to stop taking book recommendations from Melody. They’re always a disappointment.”

“But she’s so happy any time someone actually follows through with one of her suggestions!”

“You just need to tell her that while she has great taste in K-dramas, you’re never going to agree on novels. She’ll appreciate the honestly.”

“Excuse me, no one in my family appreciates honesty. We are constantly lying to each other to get along, and this is the only reason why we survive weeklong destination weddings together.”

“Well, and the alcohol.”

Darcy nods. “And the alcohol.”

And freezes.

“Oh,” says the Black Widow, “don’t freeze up now, you were doing great. Really, much better than Steve. You should be proud.”

Darcy licks her lips, and then shakes her head. No. She is not going to ask.

“Better kisser, too, I’m going to guess.”

Darcy blinks very rapidly behind her sunglasses.

Not. Going. To. Ask.

“Don’t worry,” continues the Black Widow, “We’ll probably have the chance to find out.”

Darcy clears her throat. Again.

“What, exactly, did I agree to, again?” Darcy squeaks.

And, really, these sunglasses are polarized, her smile really shouldn’t be that bright. “I just need a little bit of arm candy for a thing. You’re going to do great, really, your aim with that taser is superb and you're quick on your feet. That you look fantastic in a dress, is just a bonus.”

Darcy opens one of their water bottles and takes a long drink.

“C’mon, I’ll tell you more in the hotel room. Let’s get you out of the sun, you’re starting to pink up.”

The Black Widow stands and reaches out a hand for Darcy.

Darcy inhales deeply, and takes it.

“It’s Natasha, by the way,” says the Black Widow, the Most Beautiful Woman, as they walk up the beach to return to the hotel, their arms laden with towels and bags and umbrellas and water bottles, their elbows knocking.

Darcy rolls that around in her mouth, lets the syllables slice her tongue.

Natasha.

Well. Maybe this time when Darcy’s running around trying to assist in saving the world, she’ll manage to keep her head on.

For the sake of her pride, if nothing else.

Natasha is smiling through perfect pink lipstick.

Darcy desperately does not think about kissing that lipstick off of her, but judging from the amusement Natasha is radiating, Darcy doesn’t think she’s doing a particularly good job.

She brought her mangoes, what else is Darcy supposed to think about?

“Oh,” Natasha says as the elevator doors close around them, “by the way, I already put my things in your room. Hope that’s not too awkward.”

The mirrors surrounding them reflect back Darcy’s muffled squawk and immediate flush out to infinity, right next to Natasha’s smug grin.

“You’re enjoying this,” Darcy accuses.

“Don’t worry,” Natasha says, “I think we’re both going to enjoy this.”


End file.
